


Time To Dance, Dance

by megyal



Series: Dance, Dance [2]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Crossdressing, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-26
Updated: 2008-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 10:43:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before they were famous, there were even more proms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time To Dance, Dance

Patrick rubbed his nose as he put down the guitar and snagged Pete's loose notes; he was safely hidden away in Joe's basement, forcing some words and music together. He had deliberately chosen to spend some time in Joe's house, instead of Pete's, because he couldn't bother with all the questions. Really, he just couldn't.

Of course, because Patrick didn't want to face Pete, Pete found him fairly quickly. The door to the clean, bright basement was flung open and rapid foot-steps sounded on the wooden stairway. He groaned right before Pete literally pounced on him as he sat on the long, old sofa; a strange session of flapping arms and muffled yells ensued, wherein Patrick's hat ended up under a short table and his guitar was flung into another seat.

"You know," Pete panted with a blinding grin as Patrick shoved at his ivy-like limbs, firmly wrapped around Patrick's flailing form, "if I didn't know any better, I'd swear you're hiding from me." He released Patrick with an annoying chuckle.

Patrick scowled. "I was," he snapped, pawing around for his hat. "I didn't know if you'd understand the meaning of 'fuck the fuck off, Pete,' so I just hid. Which didn't work out. So, fuck the fuck off, Pete."

"Anytime I hear you curse, I think it's the cutest fucking thing," Pete purred and laughed out loud at Patrick's blush. "Aww! It gets even _cuter_!"

"I hate you, so much." Patrick jammed the hat back over his hair and sat on the rug with his back against the couch, glaring at the papers that had exploded from out of his grip when Pete attacked. "Now that you've made my evening miserable, you can leave now."

"Why leave when I can get a chance to pick on you?" Pete stretched luxuriously, rolling on the ground and lying on his back with one leg propped up casually on the other knee. He squinted at Patrick, and then frowned. "Wait. Wait, don't you have to go find your suit, man? Your prom, man, we cleared a couple shows so you could go to that shit. So, get going,lil doggie. You have a fine young lady to seduce this Saturday."

"I'm not going." Patrick pulled the sheaf of papers close to his face, not relaxing his hold even when Pete's fingers crept over the top; Pete ended up bending the papers in half so he could look into Patrick's face. "Don't start, Pete. Don't start."

"The _fuck_ do you mean, don't start?" Pete's eyes were dark, angry; why _he_ was angry, Patrick couldn't figure out. After all, _Patrick_ was the one without a date for the prom this Saturday. "I thought you were taking Anna, man."

"Her grandfather died. So, funerals and traveling and grieving doesn't really make for good party vibes, you know? I mean, we're just friends and she's pretty sorry about it, but. You know." Patrick made a perfunctory note on the paper, wrinkling his forehead; he looked up in surprise as a hand smoothed over the wrinkles, brushing the long strands of hair away from his eyes.

"You should go, man," Pete said, suddenly very close to Patrick, who pulled back a little in surprise. "Find some chick, go. Last prom you'll ever have."

Patrick stared at him. "Didn't you say last week that proms were just another popularity contest? And Joe totally called you out on that one, because you were Prom King at your last school and--"

"I honestly don't know how Joe got into this conversation," Pete told him frostily, twirling a strand of Patrick's hair around his forefinger; Patrick thought that Pete might have some sort of weird fetish with his hair. Pete claimed he loved the colour. "Seriously. All I'm saying is that you need to go, because these are your last years. Ok," he amended at Patrick's withering gaze, "not your last years _forever_ , but the last years of you being all young and carefree, you know?"

"Thing is, it's a bit late. Everyone's either going with someone, or going with their friends. Or, being semi-lame like me, they're staying home and watching some sweet TV."

Pete's eyes took on a gleam. A gleam which frightened Patrick very badly, for it meant that some obnoxious idea was coming to quick fruition under that black spiky hair. An idea which would result in pain, embarrassment, or both at the same time for Patrick; he steeled himself to negate any suggestion Pete would come up with.

"No," he said firmly as Pete opened his mouth. "I don't care what you're going to say. The answer is no."

Pete frowned. "All I was gonna say, man, is that I'll go with you. You're the one who's always going on about how you'd be part of the GSA if you had the time, so, a dude going with you is not going to be a problem, right? Right. I'll go with you to your prom."

"I didn't even _ask_ you," Patrick said when he finally managed to re-hinge his jaw. Pete patted his arm comfortingly.

"Well, this is me saying yes. I'll borrow my Dad's truck, pick you up at your house. It's gonna be good times, man. Good times."

He scrambled up and dropped Patrick a confident wink, running up the stairs and yelling for Joe.

"I didn't even ask you," Patrick repeated to himself weakly.

* * *

"Patrick!" His mom was at the bottom of the stairs, smiling her little half-smile at him. "Oh, you look so nice."

Patrick adjusted his bow-tie and grimly pulled on his hat; his mother frowned, even as she snapped a picture of him. "Patrick, take off that baseball cap, it just spoils the whole effect. The sneakers, I'll let them pass, but a cap, Patrick?"

"It's black, it matches the rest of the suit," Patrick defended and winced at another round of the flash. " _Mom_."

"Alright, alright." She looked a little hesitant, her face turned towards him as he descended. "You said... you said you'd be going with Pete? Which I don't have a problem with, honey, unless there's something you'd like to tell me? About yourself. If you want."

Patrick was mystified for about ten solid seconds before he got what his mother was hedging around. "Uhh."

"Because if you like boys as well as girls, that's okay. Or boys alone, that's okay," she said firmly, seeming to reassure herself as much as him. "I'm with you all the way, Patrick, when you decide. Just letting you know."

"Uhhh."

"I mean, you've finished high school, you're moving up! Next four years, I'll be at your college graduation. Four years," she mused, her eyes going soft. "They go by so fast."

"Mom, I'm not--" Patrick tried, but she flapped her hands at him, going to the front door as a horn sounded outside. "Mom. I mean, I don't _think_ \--"

"Pete's outside!" She grabbed a clear box from the side-table and thrust it in his hands. "Well, there's your corsage. It was for Anna, but I guess you can still give it to Pete." She literally shoved him out the door, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "I won't wait up. Actually, I will, but don't hold that against me, I'm your mother."

Patrick was staggering out across the lawn in confusion, the corsage held in his hands like a bomb. The passenger side of the big red vehicle popped open and Patrick clambered in.

"Hey, hi, where's Pete?" he dazedly asked the driver in the red dress, still blown away by his mother's strange speech to not notice that the girl was kind of laughing in a familiar manner; and then he _did_. This was no girl at all. "Oh, shit," he whispered, and Pete's lipsticked mouth parted to reveal his large teeth.

"Cause I was figuring if I'm gonna go as your date, then I'm gonna go all out," Pete said as if they'd been having a long conversation prior to that moment in time. He shifted the vehicle into drive and pulled away slowly from the curb. "Hey, is that my corsage? Nice, you can put it on me when we get there."

"Why would you wear a fucking _dress_!" Patrick burst out. "This isn't Halloween! Are you trying to get me killed? Oh, my god. You want me dead. You want me to show up at my high school prom with a _cross-dresser_ , and after everyone is done laughing at me, they'll beat me up. How did you leave your house looking like that?!"

"I walked through the front door, like everybody else." Pete put on his indicator and squinted at the red light, before giving Patrick a quick, scathing look. "And, dude. Do _not_ tell me that I'm not rocking this dress. You know how long it took me to zip it up? And the heels are super high, I don't know what I'm gonna do when I have to get out and put them on."

He continued to bitch, but Patrick zoned him out and took a long look at him. Where Pete had gotten that wig from was anyone's guess, but it didn't look as ratty as Patrick thought it should have; it was arranged in artful curls gathered up at the crown of his head. Some soft wisps were allowed to frame his face, and because Pete was a makeup whiz, apparently, his face was actually looking kind of nice. Soft and feminine.

"--and it's going to be _dark_ , man, nobody is going to take a good look at me anyway." He overtook an old Ford without checking his rear-view; someone behind them honked their horn in annoyance. "You didn't even tell me if I looked nice, or anything."

"You look nice," Patrick muttered ungraciously, even though it was true. Pete was slender enough to pull off being in a sleek, figure-hugging gown, and he was wearing this short, fitted jacket-thing with long sleeves that covered the tattoos on his toned arms. There was fur on the collar and the end of the sleeves; Patrick wondered if it was fake. "Very coordinated."

"I got golden shoes," Pete said excitedly. " _Golden_. Matches my purse, dude."

Patrick groaned, and then groaned some more when he realised that they were pulling into the parking-lot of hall where his prom was being kept. Pete was chattering non-stop as he parked haphazardly, jumping out in bare feet and reaching behind his seat to pull on his heels before tottering around to Patrick's side. Patrick opened his door slowly, and hoped he wasn't about to die.

"Okay." Pete held out his hand imperiously. Patrick noticed his nails were painted black as he snapped the corsage over Pete's narrow wrist. "Let's rock and roll, man."

Patrick thought that as soon as they entered, the music would screech to a halt and people would stare before dragging them off to be burned at the stake. In actuality, Pete had been right; it was fairly dim inside, and he bumped into people as Pete hung onto his arm, whispering about his heels and asking for something to drink.

"Just stay right here," he hissed as he shoved Pete towards an empty table and wandered off in search of refreshments. He grabbed up two plastic cups of some terrifyingly red juice, and returned to the table... where Pete was in a laughing conversation with some random quarterback.

"This is my date," Pete sang out as Patrick sat dumbly to one side. "I told you I wasn't lying, I _do_ have a date here."

"But you don't come to our school," the QB rumbled, smiling in such a drunkenly predatory manner. Pete, who was the epitome of predatory, wasn't fazed on the slightest. He simply leaned into Patrick, tucking himself neatly against him with the practice of one who spent many hours traveling in such close quarters as a rickety little van, and grinned.

"No, I don't, I'm in college. I _begged_ Patrick here to be his date to his prom, though."

Patrick flushed as the QB stared at them in shock, obviously just noticing that it was Patrick sitting there.

"Stumph?" The QB asked incredulously; Patrick was twice as surprised, he hadn't thought that this guy would even know his name. " _Stumph_ is your date?"

"He's really into older women," Pete confided, eyes sultry. "And older women are really into him. He's so... _mature_."

"Want to dance?" Patrick said in desperation. Pete turned to him with a delighted expression, but Patrick could interpret the derangement floating underneath the surface. Of _course_ Pete had to be crazy. Look at him in that hot red dress.

"Of course I want to dance, man! I've been waiting all night." They stood up, the quarterback still goggling them. Pete stumbled into him, his heels throwing him off-balance; Patrick staggered a little under the weight, but held firm. "Oooohh. So _muscular_ , Patrick."

"Stop it," Patrick snapped and Pete wrapped arms around his shoulders; in his golden heels, Pete was a whole head taller than Patrick, who whimpered in dismay as Pete put a hand around his neck and pulled his face into a padded bosom. "Someone, kill me now," he begged, his voice muffled.

"Dude, put your hands on my ass. Everyone will be like 'Remember how Stumph _totally_ boned that hot woman he brought? Stumph is the _king_.'" He rocked out of sync to _Underneath it All_ and Patrick had to correct his rhythm; Pete smiled down at him, a strange, soft smile that lit up the warm brown eyes. Patrick smiled back nervously, and kept his hands very politely on Pete's waist.

All this politeness was completely for naught when the DJ put on _Hot in Herrre_. Pete yelled and spun in the circle of Patrick's arms, bumping his bony ass into Patrick's crotch; Patrick should have been more horrified when he found himself getting hard, but a part of him seemed to be fully resigned to it. He was an eighteen year old dude. These things happen. Granted, it probably _shouldn't_ have been happening as his crazy best friend in a tight dress ground back on him, but maybe his mother had a point earlier after all.

He spun Pete back around, holding him at arm's length as he fought to control his erection. Pete's eyes were wide with surprise.

"Patrick--"

"Don't say a word about it," Patrick threatened through clenched teeth. "I swear to God, Pete, you say anything and I will actually kill you where you stand." He stared Pete down, or up, as it were. "Kill you _dead_."

"Okay, Patrick." Pete sounded surprisingly meek, but he still tried to step closer, because he was a stubborn piece of shit who wanted to make Patrick's life a living hell. There was a strange struggle set to music; Pete won that round through sheer determination and hugged Patrick close, his forehead pressed against Patrick's, who went a little cross-eyed at Pete's proximity.

Pete, who was always complaining about being cold, was really warm in his arms, and solid; Patrick inhaled deeply and moved his arms from Pete's waist up around his back, the soft material of the jacket brushing against the insides of his arms. He pulled back his head a little, watching Pete's eyes, which flicked from his down to his mouth.

"This is weird," he noted quietly, but Pete still heard him through the pulsing bass-line. His grin was wide and sly.

"You think so?" Pete tilted his head, his arms wrapped around Patrick's shoulders. "It's not, if you really think about it."

"I don't really want to think about it," Patrick countered, scowling. "It will break my brain if I do, and I kind of need my brain. For musical purposes."

Pete laughed and laughed, throwing his head back and letting out that bray which had everyone looking at them curiously. Patrick smiled wanly, and only sighed when Pete stopped laughing and pressed their cheeks together again as they danced.

* * *

Pete ended up dancing with the QB as well, not as close as he did with Patrick, but some wild flailing to heavy-metal that had Patrick fretting for his wig. A slow song came on, and Patrick played with his drink, not wanting to see when the QB pulled Pete into a clinch. He wanted to go over there and pull Pete away, but the QB would probably squeeze his head like a ripe tomato. So he was just going to sit over here and sulk. Easy.

So he was very surprised when Pete flopped in the chair beside him, fake bosom heaving and eyes alight. "Some kids are going over to the Lookout," he informed Patrick breathlessly. "I think we should go, too."

"I think that is a bad idea," Patrick replied, blinking slowly.

"No, it's not." Pete tried to look seductive, but Patrick refused to give in.

"Yeah, it is."

He really thought he was being firm and no-nonsense; apparently not, for fifteen minutes later, Pete was parking quite smugly at the Look-out. It was a look-out more in name than nature, for there wasn't really much to see, other than other cars with hormone-riddled teens. Actually, it was a slight slope overlooking a construction site, so in a manner of speaking, it _was_ a lookout, but Pete' sense of cinematic values derided that fact.

"Well, it's close enough for government work," he griped. "I mean, I would give my left arm for a view of sparkling city lights, but whatever. Here we go." He began to lean towards Patrick, who recoiled reflexively.

"What are you doing!" he squeaked, hating the way his voice rode up the scales. Pete looked put out and slightly hurt.

"Dude. This is the part where you have to follow that time-honoured tradition of making out with your date at the local look-out point. I'm trying to make this a perfect prom for you," he pointed out matter-of-factly. "You'll never prom this way again."

Patrick's exasperation knew no bounds. "Pete, give me a fucking break." He tried to sound stern but Pete was paying no attention; he was actually twisting and making horrible faces, trying to put his arms around his own back.

"You know, I think I put this thing on wrong. This fucking bra is killing me."

Patrick snickered, literally _feeling_ the annoyance seep right out of him; Pete grinned as well through his grimaces. "I don't even know why you felt you had to put on a bra, man. You have nothing to put in there, anyway. See, you had to pad it and everything."

"You awful boy," Pete intoned, eyes full of mock hurt. "Some girls develop late, that's all." Patrick giggled at that; Pete might be an asshole nearly all the time, but the reason Patrick stuck around was that he was a _funny_ asshole. He made Patrick laugh, pure and simple. Usually, people had to go through a lot of trouble to make Patrick laugh, but Pete did it kind of effortlessly.

"Look," Pete sighed. "There are kids over there who are totally getting some. It is my mandate, man, my _mission_ for this to be the night you never forget."

"Why would you want to do that?" Patrick asked, kind of quietly. He felt like he was hoping for something he never knew he wanted. Pete looked at him from out of the corner of his eye, considering.

"Dude. I'm in a dress and fucking heels. You think I would go through this for just anybody?"

"No," Patrick admitted. "I know that. Although I don't know exactly why."

"Because I want to. For you." Pete sounded totally different when he was being unsure and quiet, looking down at his black fingernails. Patrick took a couple deep breaths, really thinking all this shit out, if he wanted to do this and how _badly_ he did; there were consequences to think about, and a whole heap of soul-searching, but Patrick was practical enough to know that some things were better done in the cold, hard light of day; at least, for himself, anyway. He reached out, putting his hand around Pete's neck and pulling him close. "Okay," was all he said before he kissed Pete, who instantly groaned against his mouth as if he had been waiting for this all along. Pete clambered across the hand-brake, kissing back messily, tongues and teeth and his hair getting in the way until Patrick yanked it off and threw it in the tiny back-seat.

They ended up in Patrick's seat, which he dropped all the way back; he pulled off Pete's little jacket and ran his hands clumsily over the inked skin while Pete hummed in his ear happily, licking the lobe with long strokes of his tongue before kissing his way across his cheek and back to Patrick's mouth. Patrick flinched a little as Pete's hand fumbled at the zip of his trousers.

"It's okay," Pete whispered, hand wrapping slowly around Patrick's cock. "I got you."

It was pretty uncomfortable, with Pete straddling him and the cab of the truck getting so hot, windows misting over; but Pete's mouth on his, Pete's hand around him made it a little better. He ran his hands down Pete's back, and it was a lucky thing it was so dark, because he was blushing furiously as he pulled up Pete's dress and reached between his legs. Pete was wearing one of those snug boxer-brief affairs under his dress, and it was quite a struggle getting them down; Pete helped, dragging them off and pitching them to driver's seat, before hurriedly returning back to his all-important activity of his hand on Patrick's dick.

"God, like that," Pete groaned as Patrick ran the backs of his fingers over the smooth skin of his cock, warm and hard all at once. Patrick swallowed hard, and curled his fingers around it, feeling it pulse and twitch against his palm. He was a little scared, to tell the truth, of getting this all wrong. Scared enough to go a little soft again, no matter how much Pete was coaxing. He pulled Pete's hand away and gave Pete's cock a determined squeeze.

"Like that?" he mumbled, voice shaking a little. Pete nodded quickly, and kissed him again. It was actually kind of sweet being kissed like that, with Pete making soft, eager noises, pushing into Patrick's hand while he held up his dress, out of Patrick's way. Pete trembled over him, his hand creeping back to grasp at Patrick's hip, but that was okay for now, because he was _coming_ , to Patrick's amazement, short choked gasps and warm splatters over Patrick's fingers.

"Um." Patrick moved his hand around awkwardly, wondering if it would be good manners to wipe it on Pete's dress. Pete laughed unsteadily, and stopped abruptly as Patrick shrugged and licked his fingers off.

"Jesus," Pete whispered, watching him intently. Patrick blinked up at him; he had nowhere else to wipe his hand, right? And it wasn't so bad. Kind of warm and bitter. "Fuck, that's hot."

Pete slid down quickly, going to kneel in the long foot-well of the truck and pushing Patrick's legs open. Patrick stared down at him, not quite believing what Pete was going to do until his cock was fully out of his trousers, courtesy of Pete's nimble fingers and Pete's tongue was teasing around the head of his cock.

"Okay," he breathed, hips moving as he got hard again. Pete smirked up at him with a mouthful of cock, looking quite at ease as he sucked eagerly and pressed his hands against the curves of Patrick's hips, holding him down as he continued to lick and kiss, suck and nibble. He was _good_ at this and Patrick didn't really want to think about how he got so good, not when his body was tensing so spectacularly, his skin prickling in goose-bumps as his groin throbbed. He felt giddy, fucking light-leaded as he came, Pete's tongue still rasping over him until he had to push at his shoulder weakly, it was too much.

Pete climbed back over to the driver's seat, giving him the hugest grin as Patrick sat in his seat and tried to catch his breath again.

"So, uh," he began coyly, fiddling with the hem of his dress. Patrick turned a questioning gaze on him. "I hope this isn't a case of you taking advantage of me just for tonight, and not calling me tomorrow, or anything like that. Because I _will_ stalk your ass. Just so you know."

Patrick stared at him and then burst into feeble laughter and then patted Pete's jaw like an old, weak person before leaning forward in invitation for another kiss, which Pete happily gave.

"You were right," Patrick whispered against that smiling mouth. "I'll never prom this way again."

 _fin!_


End file.
